Chapter 75 Foundational
Eli’s POV
The boardroom door shut behind us with a soft click that sounded like a gun being cocked.
Sloane didn’t flinch. She walked two steps down the corridor and kept moving like she owned the building and everyone in it, even though the people who actually owned votes were now alone in a room deciding whether she was still allowed to be herself.
I followed her into a smaller glass walled lounge that overlooked the city. Manhattan sprawled below, all glitter and speed, like it hadn’t noticed a war was being fought in its towers.
Sloane sat on the edge of a low couch instead of sinking into it. Her posture was too straight. Her face was calm. Her hands were steady on her knees.
Her breathing wasn’t.
I took the chair across from her and tried to make myself still. My knee betrayed me immediately, bouncing under the table like it was trying to kick through the floor and into the boardroom.
She noticed. Of course she did.
“You’re doing that thing,” she said quietly.
“What thing.”
“The thing where you pretend you’re fine while your body files a complaint.”
I forced my leg to stop. It started again two seconds later.
She didn’t smile, but her eyes softened a fraction, like she’d just found something human to hold onto in a room full of glass.
“You okay,” I asked.
“No,” she said. “But I’m functional.”
That was her version of an I love you sometimes, and it made my chest hurt.
We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the hum of the building and the faint sound of footsteps in the hall. Every time someone passed, my head lifted automatically, calculating whether it was a messenger or a threat.
Sloane broke it first. “If they remove me as CEO,” she said, voice even, “I liquidate strategically. Not in a panic. I don’t torch my own people. But I stop being their mascot. I build something new.”
“With me,” I said before I could stop myself.
Her gaze flicked to mine. “Possibly,” she said, like it was a business option, not a lifeline.
I leaned back, exhaled slow. “If Ward caves to Council pressure,” I said, “I lose my company. I don’t lose my skills. I don’t lose my ability to keep people alive. I just lose the logo.”
“Logos can be rebuilt,” she said.
“Trust can’t, not easily,” I replied.
Her jaw tightened. “Trust is all we have left.”
I watched her fingers, still and controlled, and wanted to take her hands and press my mouth to her knuckles just to remind her she was real. Instead I kept my own hands on the table, palms down, like staying professional could keep her safe.
“No matter what happens in there,” I said, “we know what we are to each other. That doesn’t change with a vote.”
She stared at me for a long beat. The city light caught in her eyes like ice.
“We’ve both had our foundations yanked out before,” she said. “This time, we’re the foundation.”
The words landed in my chest with weight and relief. Not romantic poetry. A fact. A structure.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “We could elope,” I said, because my brain needed somewhere to put the fear. “Some remote island. We run security for a beach bar. Threat model is drunk tourists and bad karaoke.”
Sloane’s mouth twitched. “I’d hack the jukebox out of spite.”
“I’d ban microphones,” I said.
She huffed a quiet laugh. It was small, but it was real. And underneath it, I felt the possibility. That maybe one day we could choose smaller on purpose, not because someone forced it.
A door opened down the hall.
Both of us went still.
A board assistant appeared, face tight. “They’re ready for you,” she said.
Decision time.
We walked back together. Not holding hands. Not touching. But close enough that I could feel her heat beside me like a second pulse.
The boardroom looked different when we reentered, like the air had shifted while we were out.
Mariah’s chair was empty.
Sentinel Gate’s executive was gone too, and I caught a glimpse of him through the glass wall outside, jaw clenched, walking away like he’d been forced to swallow something bitter.
Some board members wouldn’t meet Sloane’s eyes. Others stared too hard, like they were trying to decide if she was dangerous or necessary.
The board chair cleared his throat. “We’ve reached several preliminary determinations,” he said.
He spoke in careful language. Corporate language. The kind that made everything sound clean even when it was blood.
There would be a confidential joint complaint filed with certain regulators regarding Council overreach. A formal request for inquiry. A paper trail that couldn’t be erased as easily as a hacked server.
Any Sentinel Gate contract would be delayed pending investigation.
Sloane didn’t react. She listened like a blade.
The chair said more. Words about governance. Oversight. Leadership considerations.
He did not say the final outcome out loud in a way that felt like closure. Not yet. Not for us. Not for the reader.
When we finally stepped back into the hall, my phone buzzed.
Lucas.
Ward board split. I refused Council alignment. We’ll lose accounts. But we stay independent.
I read it twice. Then I looked at Sloane.
Her eyes asked without speaking.
“Lucas held the line,” I said.
Something eased in her shoulders. Just a fraction.
We rode up to the rooftop at sunset like we were escaping. The city below was all orange and gold, the river catching light like a blade.
Up here, the wind was colder, cleaner. No boardroom air. No polished lies. Just sky and stone and the sound of our own breathing.
Sloane stood at the edge, hair tugged by the wind, face turned toward the horizon like she was daring the world to try again.
“Whatever they decide,” she said, voice low, “the only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to fight any more wars where you’re not on my side.”
My throat tightened. “Then I guess wherever we end up,” I said, stepping closer, “that’s the center.”
She turned. Looked at me like she was choosing, again.
I cupped her face and kissed her, slow and steady, the city circling below like it didn’t matter.
When we finally broke apart, my phone buzzed again.
Unknown number. One line.
Foundations crack easiest from the inside. See you soon, Shepherd 1.
The wind shifted, and suddenly the rooftop didn’t feel quite as high.